Falling In Love Never Occurred To Him
by Laura x Tennant
Summary: Oneshot, based on something said in Human Nature/Family of Blood two-parter. Martha finds out the reason why the Time Lord hadn't even considered falling in love.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: set just after human nature/family of blood episodes. Martha asks the Doctor a question that she can't help but want to know. **

**Falling In Love Never Occurred To Him**

"Doctor...?" Martha began slowly, hesitantly.

He glanced up at her from his position on the grating, where he was fiddling with something under the console. "Yeah?"

"When you were human..."

"Yeah?" he prompted when she trailed off again. He jumped up from the floor and twisted a few knobs and pressed a few buttons, waiting patiently for her question.

Martha cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Well, it's just, you – no, wait - John and Joan fell in love, right, and you – he – said, about you, I mean, he said something like: 'falling in love never occurred to him? What sort of a man is that?' and I...well, I was just, sort of...wondering...why? _Did _it ever occur to you? I had no idea what to do when it happened, because you hadn't left me an instruction for that on the video thing, and - "

"Martha," he said curtly, wanting her to stop. He had paused his motions, and was standing very still, looking at the console unblinkingly. Frozen, almost. Frozen in his thoughts, thoughts of the past, thoughts of another girl, far away and long ago - and not that long ago, not really, and far into the future, forwards and back, that was their momentum - and definitely, definitely not forgotten. Frozen in those memories. Well, frozen in reality, in life, really. Because, well...he, his mind, his hearts; he hadn't gotten over it (her.) Not yet, and, almost certainly, not ever. Because when was it going to stop hurting? Never, most probably.

But then...well. It was...it was _her_, and he...he could live with the hurt. For the rest of his life, he'd put up with the pain, because at least that meant he remembered it all, the depth of it, how they'd been, and he hadn't just imagined it; it had been real - really, really_ real;_ it wouldn't hurt this much if he'd just dreamt her up, or imagined the look in her eyes, or the happy, _wonderful_ ache deep in his chest when he saw her smile.

Watching him warily, Martha had stopped talking, closing her mouth obediently at his warning tone of voice. Then, she murmured an apology, and started to walk away.

His voice, low and quiet and so very sad, stopped her in her tracks.

"He was right. It never occurred to me."

He swallowed thickly, and waited for her response.

"Oh. So..." she trailed off again. How could she put it? How could she ask him without sounding accusing, or judgemental, or scared? She didn't want to sound anything like all of that, she just wanted to know. For so long she'd been unable to read him, and now he'd opened up, just a little, and she wanted him to elaborate on that last statement, tell her what he meant by it.

She tried again, in the only way she knew how. "So...what sort of a man _does _that make you?" she murmured softly, trying to sound compassionate, gentle.

The Doctor sighed wearily and rubbed at his eyes, determined to tell her, for once just _tell _her, well, tell someone, actually – finally just tell _someone _– the truth.

He sniffed determinedly, and began to speak. "It makes me the sort of man who falls in love once, and in doing so, falls in love forever, and couldn't possibly fall in love again."

He chanced a look at her, saw her mouth open to question him further, then abruptly shut again; she was unsure again, of quite how to pose her inquiry.

"Done it once," he continued, mumbling quietly now as he sat back down on the floor, and settled himself underneath the console to fix some wires that didn't need fixing. "Don't need or want to do it again."

Martha exhaled shakily and muttered goodnight before retreating to her bedroom, not knowing what to say to him in reply. She'd got her answer, but honestly? It didn't mean she had to like it. And she wasn't sure anything she could say would make him feel better.

The last few months had been tough, but somehow, she knew he'd had tougher. In the past. Before her. And she couldn't blame him for not asking her how she was – well, he had done, he wasn't quite that oblivious; but he hadn't really listened when she'd answered. But he'd thanked her, of course he had; she'd looked after the human him after all, and risked a hell of a lot – her life, for one - to keep him safe.

But he wasn't hugging her, comforting her, making her a cup of tea, offering to take her somewhere spectacular to make up for it all. It probably didn't occur to him, and she could not, would not, ever blame him for it because what right did she have to be lonely and need a comforting hand to hold when he was obviously so damn miserable with her being the wrong person here with him? She knew she was his friend, and he cared about her, needed her, even, and he liked her company, but sometimes she felt very aware of the fact that she was not, and could not ever be, _enough_. Not like the one that got away had been.

The Doctor heard her leave, and with another deep sigh, he dropped the sonic screwdriver beside him and shoved the newly-broken wires back in their non-rightful place, before flopping his head down to the floor a little (a lot) unceremoniously. That last thing...well, he'd done it a bit harder than he'd intended, mind, because he had a bump coming up on his head now; and to be honest, it bloody hurt.

Still, he thought to himself, at least that provides some sort of false excuse for the tears...even if it is unmanly.

He swiped his hand across his face, trying to regain some sort of composure and pride, but it was kind of hopeless, and he gave in to the unmanliness, un-_Time-Lord_-liness, and emotion took control.

Peace came, though, after a while of thinking and regretting and missing and longing; he fell asleep there under an hour later, and it was actually quite welcomed by him – yep, the man, _alien, _who used to mock his human companions for sleeping their lives half away, was admitting he liked to sleep.

But it was all justified. Because sleep meant one thing.

He could dream of her.

(Just like he always did, even when he was human and couldn't remember who he really was; he'd remembered her, seen her in his dreams, always walking away, and known he loved her, this imaginary-dreamt-up-girl that was actually very real, his perfect Rose; she was there, constantly, holding his hand, always, defining him, always; defining his very existence.)

He could get her back, just for a bit.

And when he woke up from his dream with a start – _they'd been to the planet Fredoriaa that night, and she'd thrown a banana skin at him when, the cheek of him, he'd tried to kiss her, even after just having forgotten to inform her of the very large evil cactus-looking-but-not-quite-cactus that lived atop the Mountain of Insuito which loved to devour humans _- he sat up with one word on his lips, so quickly that he bashed his head again.

"Rose – _oww_! Bugger, I keep doing that."

...

Of course falling in love hadn't even occurred to the Time Lord; he already _had _fallen in love, before, with _her, _his Rose.

And the name of that girl would be on his lips every time he woke up, even though she was not with him anymore.

...

**A/N: Hiya everyone. Hoped you liked this :D It'd be lovely to hear from you, to see what you think. Loveya xxx**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Part 2**_

"I dreamt of you," he whispers into the darkness, into the empty room. "Even when I was him, a human, who didn't know you, had never seen you..." He laughs darkly. "Then again, you've always been the girl of my dreams; why would that alter with a silly thing like changing species?"

There's no reply, of course. No gasp of surprise and no applaud of gratitude or praise. No _of course you dreamt of me, _no _good, I'm glad you did, _no _I know._ No shy, bemused, _really? _No hug. No kiss.

No Rose.

"Of course, these dreams, they scared the life out of him as well as thrilled him," he continues, swallowing past the lump in his throat to tune out the silence of his bedroom. "You see, I – he – dreamt he was this fantastic adventurer, this madman with a box that flies through the universe and a girl who flies, runs, laughs right along with him. A girl he calls Rose, his perfect Rose, for no other name could ever, will ever, possibly fit more perfectly. A girl who holds his hand - " he breaks off, inhaling deeply.

There's a silence which stretches on for a few minutes, but then he finds it in himself to speak again, to try and ignore the fact he's not got her holding his hand now, not got her thumb stroking over his, not got hers to stroke back. "You know, if you hadn't walked away from him – me – every time...in the dreams, I mean...if you hadn't always walked away, maybe he'd've believed you were real. Maybe he'd've believed there was something, someone, worth changing back for."

He closes his eyes. "Mind you, now I'm back Time Lord again, I have much more vivid dreams, which is something, I suppose. Weeelll, when they're not nightmares of levers and letting go, that is. And it's funny, because you never leave me in _my _dreams – except for the nightmares, obviously – because that's not your way, really, is it? You never did walk away from me, not really. Not ever. As a human, even the happiest, most brilliant of dreams ended in you fading away; as a Time Lord, the interesting and weird thing is, you never do. Until I wake up, of course, which is arguably even worse. _Is _even worse. My Time Lord subconscious is so clever that I believe what I dream is real, and so I dream that you'll be staying by my side the rest of the night. But of course, come morning, I open my eyes and you're not really here, and that...that's..."

He opens his eyes again and blinks the tears down his cheeks and continues, "...that's even worse than if I didn't dream of you at all." He pauses; shakes his head defiantly. "Weelll, no, that's not true. I'd never not dream of you and I'd never want to not dream of you."

He stares up at the ceiling and wants to be staring up at her. "I just...I wish you were here," he murmurs softly. "I miss you, Rose."

There's still no reply, though he knows, deep down, that she must miss him too, whatever she's doing in that parallel world, whoever she's with. Because they've never been able to let go of one another. He doubts they ever could move on, not completely; perhaps not at all, in his case. And however much he wants her to be happy, to have a fantastic life...he selfishly never wants her to not remember him, or not dream of him, or not wish she could still be with him.

It's those kind of thoughts that remind him how stubborn she is. It's remembering how stubborn she is that makes him think, hope, just for a moment, a tiny, tiny, moment: maybe she won't listen to his words _you_ _can't. _Maybe she won't take impossible at face value. Maybe, just maybe, she's stronger than him, braver than him, cleverer than him: maybe she'll command the universes to let her back through, let her come home. Maybe. Maybe.

Maybe.

"Please come back to me."

His whispers are begging now; or maybe praying. If there's one thing he believes in, it's her, after all. He shifts onto his front and inhales the lingering scent of her on the pillow.

"Please."


End file.
